


A Thousand Bars

by sinemoras09



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemoras09/pseuds/sinemoras09
Summary: Talia keeps vigil. Talia/Jason, Talia/Batman, Hurt/comfort. Angst. AU.Under the Red Hoodmovie-verse. 2nd person POV.
Relationships: Talia al Ghul/Jason Todd





	A Thousand Bars

_"For him it is as though there_  
were a thousand bars, and behind  
the thousand bars, no world." 

He breathes. You hold your breath, then touch the bruised line of his collarbone. His chest heaves with the effort, deep, labored, painful breaths, and his eyes squeeze shut in the midst of a fitful dream.

This is your penance, holding vigil at the bedside of a dead man. You watch the light spill onto his body, soft yellow haze from the lamplight beside you, and you wonder quietly to yourself if this can be called something like love.

He had been beaten to death, then blown up for extra good measure. The cruelty of Joker's overkill turns your mouth into a thin tight line. Here is the crack in the ribs when the boot struck against his chest; here is the mark from the crowbar smashing against skin. You imagine dried blood and sweat and fear, and you count his bruises like stars.

*****

He wakes on the third night, when you worry that he will not open his eyes.

You palm his cheek roughly in your hand, pressing the washcloth damp against his skin. His eyes are dark and you know the question in his mind. "You wish to know where he is," you say, and you keep your voice soft, the barest whisper. "He does not know you're alive."

The man says nothing, but then again, you are not surprised.

The cloth drips with water; you wring its excess over the basin, rust-colored and warm. You think of the Batman then, and the hardness of his face and eyes.

Your lips brush the line of his jaw, the smallest kiss dropping on the bruise on his skin. His head bows, and you trace the line of his shoulder with your mouth. He is young, but he quickly understands. The Batman never touches you this way, never clasps at your shoulders and arms or hunts the scars on your skin. You move together, the lamplight breaking the shadows on the wall.

One harsh thrust upward, a gasp. Hot breath beside your neck. 

"Why?" he says. 

Another harsh thrust. 

_Why? Why? Why?_ Why?

You feel him bury himself against your neck, and you try not to notice when he grips against your shoulders and tries not to cry.

*****

You stand at the mountain's edge, watching as orange streaks of sky washes the dawn. 

You try to tell him that all is not lost, that he is still alive. But you see how his jaw sets, and you know he will not be avenged. He has been cast aside.

You see the pain of one who would kill for the one he loves, and the pain of knowing that he is not worth the same, and you slide your hand across his waist and lean him towards you, because you at least are someone who cares, and you hope this gives him comfort.

He leaves. You watch him as he does, a shrinking figure in a sea of orange light, before you turn to greet the dawn.


End file.
